"Tri—cot," she managed to utter painfully.
"I've attended to him. Where's Quinlevin?"
She pointed, soundless, toward the door.
"He went down to look for me?" he questioned.
She nodded.
"Good," laughed Jim. "We'll be ready when he comes back."
He went out and had another look at Tricot. The man was out of it and there was a dark shadow on the stone work where he had fallen. So Horton came back into the room, found a pitcher of water, with which he bathed Piquette's forehead and throat and then gave her to drink. And in a moment she was able to enunciate more clearly. But she was very weak and it seemed that her nerve was gone, for her shoulders shook with hysteria and she clung to Horton still in terror of her frightful experience. But Horton was taking no chances now and did the thinking and talking for them both.
"You're sure Quinlevin went down to look for me?" he asked again.
"Yes, m-mon ami. Tricot,—'e saw you below—in—de—de garden."
"He knows you threw out the papers?"